


like a fresh wound

by Pandir



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Nacho is a tightly wound coil desperate for release, Scars, Sensual mild gore, Weird metaphorical dreams, wound fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: "It must be killing you to keep all these secrets inside of you, Ignacio."It feels like he's been holding his breath for so long, he's forgotten how to breathe.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27
Collections: Bad Things Happen





	like a fresh wound

**Author's Note:**

> weird pretty gross horny vent fic for the Bad Things Happen Bingo - prompt: "Reopening an old wound"

There's a weight on his lungs, tightening around his chest and pressing down on his ribs, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe.

Though it gets easier to ignore when Lalo's wiry frame is resting heavily on Nacho's chest, solid and restricting. When they lie like this, skin on skin, Lalo is so unnervingly close Nacho feels Lalo's lungs expand against his ribs as he breathes in.

"Come on, Ignacio", Lalo's voice is so low, it's almost a purr, as his teeth scrape at the soft skin right below Nacho's earlobe.

Nacho bucks his hips impatiently, urging. A moan forms in his throat and Nacho grits his teeth to keep it in. It's getting harder and harder to keep his composure when he could just wrap his legs around Lalo and pull him in to push deep inside, unraveling all the stuck and jagged pieces until he falls apart, all noises and need with nothing left to restrain him.

Lalo's weight shifts as he props himself up on his elbow to let his other hand roam over Nacho's neck, over the strained muscles of his shoulder. "Open up for me", he urges, softly.  
  
Lalo's thumb circles the fading scar of the gunshot wound as he grinds against him, and with a sigh, Nacho presses his thighs around Lalo's hips. His eyes flutter shut and he can feel it more than he can see it - how under Lalo's fingers, the flesh above his collarbone parts and unfolds, revealing a glint of metal underneath the blood red tenderness. Nacho holds his breath, afraid to move so much as a muscle, when Lalo's fingers part the flesh to reach inside, slowly but purposeful. It's the strangest, most foreign sensation, a sharp pull that cuts through the marrow of his bones, and the bullet wedged deep within budges ever so slightly. Nacho's digs his fingers into the sheets, breathing through his nose as sweat collects on his brow. With delicate movements, Lalo's fingers dislodge the bullet, and as it's slowly pulled out, Nacho groans with something between pain and relief.

His head reeling, Nacho looks up to see Lalo holding the bloodied bullet between his thumb and index finger and inspecting it with interest.  
  
"It must be killing you to keep all these secrets inside of you, Ignacio", he muses. His fingers close around the bullet and he inclines his head, his eyes now on Nacho with open curiosity. Never breaking eye contact, Lalo rests his hand on the side of Nacho's thigh, following its curve up the hip in a slow caress. His voice is low when he says, "I'll relieve you of them."

Out of Lalo's mouth, it should be nothing but a threat, but still, Nacho hesitates. Something is still knotted tightly in his stomach, always tense, always guarded, always present, and all he can do is try to breathe around it all day. Without thinking, Nacho grabs Lalo's hand to hold it in place, fingers digging into his wrist. His stomach twists and tightens, but as he looks up the dark eyes above him, he's not scared.

He's daring him.

Slowly, inch by inch, he guides Lalo's hand over his abdomen and up to his stomach, until his palm rests on the soft skin right below his ribcage. On the scar of the bullet that tore right through his insides. _Gotta make it look real._

Nacho's pulse is strong but steady beneath Lalo's finger tips when Nacho holds Lalo's gaze.

"Then get it over with", he hears himself say, but the fingers closed around Lalo's wrist like a vice grip betray his tension.

Gently, Lalo's fingers align with the curve of Nacho's ribs, his palm pressed flat on Nacho's skin. It's warm, firm and solid, and Nacho closes his eyes. It feels like he's been holding his breath for so long, he's forgotten how to breathe. Under the slight pressure of Lalo's warm touch, Nacho finally exhales.

As the air leaves his lungs, hot, thick blood starts welling up beneath Lalo's palm, painting it red as it seeps over Nacho's stomach. He must have released Lalo's hand from his grip, allowing Lalo to inspect the wound that has opened up under his touch. His fingers ghost over the bloodied skin that has parted neatly along the white ridges of the scar. It's like the seams have come undone, leaving an open, gaping flesh wound in their place. The blood spilling out is of a fresh, vibrant crimson, as if the bullet had just pierced his skin, and Nacho winces, expecting hot, searing pain to pulse through him as if he'd been torn in half.  
  
But there's no pain, only the gentle throbbing of his pulse and a slight tearing when his lungs expand as he breathe in. Then, without warning, Lalo's fingers slide in, pushing into the slick warmth, and a choked noise tears from Nacho's throat.  
  
"Lalo--!", he gasps, pleads, but Lalo is holding him down, resting his weight on the hand on Nacho's bloodied shoulder.  
  
His fingers pull out just enough for Nacho to breathe, his joints now covered in thick, dark red blood. It spills over his knuckles as Lalo pushes in again and bends his fingers to press against the wet, sensitive flesh. It's enough sets Nacho's nerves on fire, each little movement pulsating through his body with unknown intensity, and Nacho's legs tremble helplessly as he arches his back beneath Lalo, desperate to meet his fingers.

" _Fuck_ ", Nacho breathes through gritted teeth.

Lalo's eyes narrow as he smiles, and there's a glint in them that Nacho can't place - not when he's breathing around Lalo's fingers buried in his sensitive, quivering flesh, warm blood welling up around them each time Nacho inhales. 

"Lalo", Nacho croaks, his voice failing him. He feels like he might pass out any second, and it's so much, so overwhelming-- but somehow, still not enough. " _Please_ -"

And finally, Lalo pushes in deeper, delving into the warm depths of the wound until his fingertips press deep into his slick, vulnerable insides, the pliant connective tissue between his organs - until they reach something deep at the core of him that has never been touched, that was never _meant_ to be touched. Nacho holds onto Lalo like he's clinging on for dear life, fingernails digging deep into the muscles of his back. The violent intrusion leaves him shaking as he convulses around Lalo's fingers, but he only holds on tighter. Blood soaks his sheets, and he's overflowing, vibrant redness spilling over Lalo's fingers and dripping from his palm.  
  
A broken sob tears from Nacho's throat, and it doesn't feel like any kind of salvation, but almost, almost like relief.  
  
  
When he wakes up, there's a metallic taste in his mouth. Blinking into the bright morning light, he makes a sleep-addled attempt at damage control. He's not surprised when there's no gaping wound, no warm wetness, as his fingers brush over his stomach and abdomen. But that's not what he dreads to find.

Nacho slides his hand between his legs and sucks in a sharp breath. The fabric of his trunks is damp and slick from arousal.

With a soft, frustrated groan, Nacho lets his head hit the pillow. He breathes around the tight, twisted knot in his insides and finds himself wishing that when Lalo takes him home this evening, he'll at least have the decency to fuck him until Nacho has no choice but to drop all pretenses, until he's left to drift at the brink of consciousness, spent, drained, eviscerated.

Sliding his hand down his trunks and rolling his hips to meet the friction, he thinks of himself beneath the weight of Lalo's body, trying to catch his breath in vain as he's spilling over under Lalo's hands, raw and open like a fresh wound.


End file.
